Bourbon Street

Sliding down the spiral of a twist uncertain if I ever existed

I run my fingers down your soft skin and see the fleeting indents of the last seconds I touched

Your body does not flinch with reaction and your eyes are milked over with demonic indifference



Running after you in the parade of the dead, your silk gown flowing it's crimson red

Dark jewel crown princess piper for the damned sing me the song that tells me what I am

The procession moves with heavy purpose as the chords of the dirge the dying composer wrote for his own legacy



I am dressed as the gentlman unable to erase the skull that was scrawled on my face


You run up a circular stairway, the sequence of black and white ivory keys reverberating lush musical tone

I lose you like an elusive melody, all this art unable to even make an impression on the surface of your heart

Do not shed a tear for me my lovely loyal friend, we are all lost souls here unable to bend

Gathering on Old Hallows eve in Bourbon Street, the year the Mayan calender ends

Stretching across the streets our passion manifesting as purple flames, no one here will ever be the same